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The bond he referred to was something we shared. An internal GPS system that links a fledgling vampire (yours truly) with her sire. While Thierry hadn’t officially turned me into a vampire, it was his blood that helped me survive the harsh transition when my true sire found himself on the wrong end of a hunter’s wooden stake.
I could find him through the same bond. And I would have used it if I hadn’t had recently had my entire species altered.
“Closer,” I urged again.
Fat Bastard sighed and trotted us a bit closer to Thierry. We finally got his attention, and, with a frown, he looked down at the motley group at his feet.
“This town is very odd,” he muttered.
“I think dis bat belongs to you,” Fat Bastard told him.
Thierry blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
I strained upward to meet his silvery-gray eyes. “Okay, Thierry, don’t freak out,” I squeaked.
He blinked again. “What is happening here?”
“It’s me,” I said, feeling weirdly embarrassed. I mean, why wouldn’t I? He was so stoic, so controlled, so serious, and yet I’d brought a shit-ton of chaos into his life over the last year.
Thierry waited, as if for additional explanation, that frown seemingly a permanent fixture on his handsome face.
“It’s…it’s Sarah,” I said.
His eyes widened. “Sarah.”
“I can explain, but let’s just say it’s been a hell of a day.”
It took another couple of moments before his utterly stunned look (not a frequent visitor to Thierry de Bennicoeur’s visage, let me tell you) faded and concern entered his gaze. He then reached his arm toward me, and I gingerly clawed my way onto the very fine, smooth fibers of his Hugo Boss jacket sleeve.
I looked down at the cats. “Thank you so much for your help.”
“Good luck, youse guys,” Fat Bastard chimed, and the other two nodded.
“Woulda been tasty,” Jango muttered. “Oh well.”
Without another word, Thierry moved away from the cats and toward the rental car. He got into the driver’s seat before placing me gently down on the dashboard.
“This is…quite a surprise,” Thierry admitted.
“I’m sure it is,” I squeaked.
“I assume this is a curse of some kind? I should never have brought you to a town renowned for its powerful witches.”
“Not a curse, I don’t think. I’m just bespelled, or something.” I let out a squeaky sigh. “I’m so glad I found you. There’s so much to tell you.”
Thierry’s phone vibrated, and he pulled it out of his pocket to look at the screen. “It’s Alicia.”
“Don’t answer it!” I yelped.
His gaze flicked to mine before he slid the phone back into his pocket. “It seems this assignment may have gotten out of hand.”
“Yeah, just a little. Okay, let me fill you in on the sordid details…”
And I did just that. From the moment he left the diner, to my getting Alicia to talk about her boyfriend, Damon. To the locket full of magical hair that transported us across the ocean to Paris. To the Rags to Riches shop and meeting the warlock in question. The elf-ghost. And then the revelation of the evil master plan.
“Damon,” Thierry repeated. “That is a name I have not heard for a very long time.”
“I got the impression that you two weren’t good friends.”
